You
don’t fool me. I see
the way you eye wrinkles on my skin,
making plans even as you huff
and puff your dragon’s breath
on splayed out creases
and folds. Hotheaded, jealous,
you redirect your unrelenting venting when my attention wanders,
searing allegiance into me with an angry version of a hickey.
Have I never come back for more? Drawn by your heat, I marvel
at your sensitivity to different materials: bossy with cotton,
sly with silk. You always get your way.

14
cards for the left brain: Prose poems that describe the
character of the household objects
I’ve
drawn. I set neither the objects nor the drawings in front
of me while I wrote. Instead, I thought
about my relationship with the object and considered what the
object represents in the household, beyond its utilitarian
purpose.
Each blind contour drawing (numbered 1 through 14) corresponds
with a prose poem (labeled A through N). Use both sides of
your brain to match them and identify common household objects.

14
cards for the right brain: Blind contour drawings of objects ordinarily
found in the home. I did not look at the pencil or paper as I drew. My eyes
focused only on the contour of the object; my hand, holding a pencil, followed
my gaze. When I thought
I’d drawn the entire contour, I stopped and looked at the page.
I allowed no erasures or additions.